


Happy?

by Bronzeflower



Category: Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
Genre: Negative Thoughts, Thinking, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:39:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7183679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronzeflower/pseuds/Bronzeflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Montag thinks about happiness</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy?

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops. My hand slipped.

Was he happy?

Montag stared down at his hands. He remembered that question being asked. Once, twice, thrice. He couldn’t quite remember how many times it was asked, but it was. It was asked.

Most people were happy. People who didn’t read books and just sat in a room surrounded by screens and colors and noise were happy. They lived life without a single care. No cares. Did they care? Did it matter if they cared? They were happy, right?

Montag curled his hands into fists, and then stretched them out as far as he could before allowing them to relax.

There goes that question again. Asked over and over and over again, but said by no one, because most people were happy. It went without saying. They were happy, happy, happy! As they say things over and over, repeat things over and over, state things over and over and over and.

Montag took a breath. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. But was he happy? Was he happy with the way he lived? Was he happy not being important? Was he happy just being a living book?

Montag thought back to a time where he might have been happy. Was he really happy then? What did happiness feel like? What was it supposed to feel like?

He remembered a time where he was surrounded by people laughing and smiling. What were they laughing and smiling about? Why were they laughing and smiling? What did they have to smile about? The war? Their lives? Were they just laughing at nothing?

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all. Their lives were gray and black and white even if they lived in blue and green and red. Their lives were pointless, pointless, absolutely pointless.

And what was he? Was he pointless? He knew he didn’t matter. He was just someone who memorized a book.

‘You’re not important.’ Yeah. That’s what they had said. He’s not important. He’s just a book. Ecclesiastes and Revelation. That’s all he is.

Most people didn’t think. They just watched and absorbed and forgot. But he remembered. He remembered. 

He forgot what happiness felt like. He almost wished he could go back to the time where he was completely oblivious and ignorant. Just like everyone else.

Yeah. Then he might just be happy for once.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea stuck in my head, and it had to be written


End file.
